


Metempsychosis

by Kayoi1234



Series: Reincarnation is horrible, but it'll work out in the end. [10]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blanket Permission, Crossover, Dream Smp, Gen, Guess what they're reincarnated from lol, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's all platonic so don't get any ideas alright, Reincarnation, That's just the nature of reincarnation AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayoi1234/pseuds/Kayoi1234
Summary: /ˌmɛtɛmsʌɪˈkəʊsɪs/(noun)the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species.[Do you remember who you used to be?](Reincarnation has always been a tricky thing.)
Series: Reincarnation is horrible, but it'll work out in the end. [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1103322
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it with more MCYT stuff and not actually doing the studying I'm supposed to be doing lol.
> 
> Guess the stuff I referenced! Answers are at the bottom of the page, but no cheating!

Do you remember who you used to be, before you came to your present self? Do you remember who your soul used to be, before all of this?

Do you remember who you once were?

(Reincarnation is a tricky thing.)

\---

Dream asks him once, when George is restringing his bow. “Hey George,” he begins, leaning against a wall of the community house whilst George is cross-legged on the floor, pulling the string taught against wood. “When did you get good at shooting when you’re in mid-air? Hbomb told me you managed to get the bullseye on his obstacle course whilst falling.”

George stares at Dream, thinking on the answer. What was the answer again?

_(The answer was that he remembers a bow made of bamboo in his hands, a bird said to be of divine origin, a lance that’s heavy in his grip, a crown prince with a sword of lightning, a prince with a bow of wind, a battlefield, a person turned dragon. He remembers –_

_-and he forgets.)_

George pauses, considering the words. “It just…felt natural, felt right.”

\---

“Hey Tubbo,” Tommy gestures, waving his arm in front of their face as they sit on the bench, listening to a disc playing in the jukebox. Tubbo blinks, before turning to their friend.

“Yeah, what’s up Tommy?” Tubbo asks, confused.

“Remember when we kidnapped Antfrost and you went on about the Archives? What was that all about anyway?”

Tubbo blinks.

_(They remember a library, filled with stories of things that don’t follow the natural order of the world, an organisation, a foundation that had made sure that the library was always contained, always secured, always protected. They remember-_

_-and they forget.)_

“I don’t know,” Tubbo says finally, uncertainty colouring their voice, as they fiddle with the edge of their shirt. “It just seemed important.”

\---

“Hey Wilbur,” Techno calls out over the din of Pogtopia, carrying a stack of TNT in his arms. “What made you want to blow up Manberg anyway? Weren’t you trying to reclaim it or something?”

Wilbur blinks. “Well Techno, it’s because…I…” He trails off, unsure of the words.

_(Of course, he’d remember the town in the countryside, the shadow of himself, the fog and the TVs, the children who had come to stop him, the cool metal of a gun, the shadows from another world, reality collapsing. He remembers-_

_-and he forgets.)_

Wilbur blinks. “It just…. makes sense.” He ends up replying, staring at the button he’s crafted out of wood, sitting innocently in his hand. “In the moment, it just made sense.”

\---

“You seem to know a lot about hunting Dreamons,” Sapnap comments to Fundy, hands in his pockets, sparing a glance at the fox as the two of them try and find Dream, possessed as he may be. “Where did you learn to do it?”

Fundy pauses, staring at Sapnap. Where…where did he learn to hunt them? It seems like there should have been something, but…

_(But, he remembers the worn grip of a katana, the burn in his lungs, the smell of blood, the way his sword cuts clean through a demons neck, the smell of wisteria, the feeling of the ocean pushing his blade, a crow sitting on his arm. He remembers-_

_-and he forgets.)_

“I’m not sure,” Fundy replies quietly, staring down at his hands, tail flicking behind him, ears twitching. “I have no idea where I learned.”

\---

“Eret,” Nikki asks, placing a basket of baked goods on his kitchen table of his castle, coming around to see what he was up to. “Did you ever have a reason to betray L’Manberg in the first place?”

Eret looks up from the blueprints he was looking over, confused at the question. Did he have a reason, beyond power and recognition? What was his reasoning again, to betray a nation he once sought to help create?

_(Perhaps it’s the engine room, the gunshot, the self-sacrifice, the cruel but not un-kind words to a phantom thief, a man who actualises an entire world, his death marking a new beginning, justice, bless, curse, wildcard. He remembers-_

_-and he forgets.)_

“I’m not entirely sure,” Eret says, tracing a finger down the edge of the blueprints, feeling the difference between paper and wood. “I…don’t actually know.”

\---

“So, Quackity,” Schlatt begins, his voice laced with threats and promises of hurt, standing near the White House with a pickaxe in hand. “Why can’t we destroy this White House, huh? Too many fond memories?”

Quackity pauses, hand still on his bow, an arrow halfway out of his quiver. There is a reason why, isn’t there? There was a reason, right? There had to be, of course there was a reason, right?

_(The reason was the memory of a country overthrown by a corrupt government, the sands of a nation that no longer existed, destruction done by researchers, a child dying in the dunes, a country wiped clean, a wanderer searching for vengeance. He remembers-_

_-and he forgets.)_

“Yeah,” Quackity says, nocking an arrow, drawing the string back, aiming right at Schlatt’s throat. “Let’s just go with that.”

\---

“Hey Bad?” Skeppy asks, sparing a glance at him as they sort out the sprawling chests in their shared base. “Why are you crying?”

Bad pauses in his sorting of chests, pressing his fingers to his face, finding fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, tears still spilling from his eyes. He dries his eyes with his sleeve, unsure. “I don’t…” He begins to say, before trailing off. Why is he crying?

_(He’s crying because he remembers a person with snow white hair sacrificing themselves, a tactician that always tries to make sure everyone comes out alive, a group of knights that wandered the nation to save people, children from a future past. He remembers-_

_-and he forgets.)_

“I don’t know,” Bad ends up saying, wiping some stray tears away. “It just seemed…right.”

\---

(Reincarnation is a tricky thing.)

Do you remember who you once were, before all of this happened and you were left to come into a new body provided by the very forces that power this world?

Do you remember who you once were, who you used to be?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would you listen to the advice of the dead?  
> [Sometimes, advice comes from unwanted places.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation.

Would you listen to the advice of the dead? Would you listen to them speak, let them mutter words into your ear?

Would you listen to the advice of the dead, even if they are what you used to be?

(Sometimes, advice comes from unwanted places.)

\---

George sits, perched in the branches of a tree on a far away mountain, watching a festival happen with out him. He’s meant to be there, all things considered, but he had chosen not to come, because there were more important things to attend to. His grip tightens on his bow, an arrow already halfway out of his quiver.

 _“We Kinshi Knights have an honour code,”_ a voice whispers from somewhere behind him, and George pretends to not hear the words, decides to nock the arrow. _“Don’t you remember what you swore to do?”_

George bites the inside of his cheek, lining up the shot with Schlatt’s head, the bow string pulled taught. _“Are you making the right decision?”_ the ghost of a knight asks, and George’s hand twitches, but only a bit. _“Don’t you want to do better?”_

The festival explodes into a smattering of red, white and blue sparks. George’s communicator begins to make shrill beeps, alerting him of 11 different deaths, all by the hands of Technoblade. He ends up lowering the bow, relaxing his hold as he stows the arrow away and slings his bow over his shoulder.

He’ll try and commit this assassination another day. Honour code or not, he’s already decided on what he’s going to do.

\---

Tubbo picks at the loose threads of their shirt, wrapping the thread around a finger and pulling it, letting the fibres snap. They wonder about the strange things they have seen today, if there are people are recording it down or something.

 _“Of course, we are,”_ a voice says, but Tubbo can’t really figure out where. _“The Serpent’s Hand records all knowledge,”_ and Tubbo thinks that sounds incredibly difficult to do, recording every anomaly that has ever happened.

 _“The anomaly that killed us was never supposed to happen,”_ the voice says, and Tubbo tightens their hands into fists as they pull another thread from their shirt. _“The Archives now lay incomplete, and all that remains is us, functionally immortal until the eventual end of the universe.”_

Tubbo pulls on another string until it snaps, dropping it to the floor, before brushing their hands on their shirt, smoothing the green material out. They make a point of ignoring the voice, forcing the words it’s saying to become white noise as they go and find Tommy.

 _“Would you like to hear the stories of Roman Men?”_ the voice inquires, and Tubbo does not think of an answer to that question.

\---

Wilbur sets the button back onto the stone, long after Tommy and Quackity have left him in his little room, and he collapses into the wooden chair he had dragged into it, staring at the little wooden thing on the wall.

 _“Well, you seem prepared,”_ a voice calls out from behind him, and Wilbur feels a chill at his back, as if there was a ghost leaning on the back of his chair. _“Nothing is going to stop you, right?”_

Wilbur stares at the button, knowing that really, nothing can stop him. Tommy is only a child after all, what more could he do?

 _“I lived a life of the most boring of men,”_ whispers the voice, and Wilbur’s fingers lace together as he stares at the button, humming My L’Manberg under his breath, _“There was a reason why I did the things I did – I liked the power that came with it, I found reality boring so I sought to destroy it. Your motive is similar to mine – almost the same.”_

“We are not the same,” Wilbur says into the din and the voice chuckles, as if he’s wrong.

 _“Oh Soot-san,”_ The voice says, laughing, something deranged and broken, _“We are very much alike.”_

\---

Fundy holds up his sword in the air, examining the blade of it as he watches the light reflect off it’s sharpened edge. He stares at the blade, the way the light dances across it’s flat as he stares and stares and stares.

 _“You know, we were supposed to good at this,”_ A voice mutters, and Fundy’s ears twitch as he lowers the sword, pushing it back into it’s scabbard. _“If we were better, we would have been demon slayers. Make our teacher proud and all that.”_

Fundy’s tail flicks from side to side, putting the supplies he used to sharpen his sword away, ignoring the voice as best as he can. No need to acknowledge it’s presence now. There’s no need at all.

 _“We died in a forest,”_ the voice whispers, and Fundy can feel the ocean’s might beneath his fingertips. _“There was a demon with many hands and it slaughtered and ate us. Isn’t that just…disappointing?”_

Fundy packs the last of his supplies away, closing the chest with a final click.

 _“We were cursed from the start,”_ The voice whispers, and Fundy’s ears flick as he shivers from the sudden cold. _“After all, that demon only ever went for the children with fox masks.”_

\---

Eret is wandering along the scenic route of the path, carefully balancing on the edge of the path, heading towards the cat café he’s built. It’s a quiet morning, with only crows to keep him company.

 _“Do you regret it, betraying them?_ ” a voice whispers, and Eret nearly stumbles but rights himself, foot wavering before he takes the next step. _“I thought I wouldn’t, but when I shot him…some part of me did.”_

Eret moves himself to the centre of the pathway, not keen on falling again.

 _“I wonder,”_ the voice whispers, letting Eret hear it mutter it’s theories out loud, _“If we’re always doomed to repeat out mistakes. From one traitor to another, it’s a surprise we’re allowed to be alive for this long anyhow? Don’t you think they deserve retribution?”_

“I wouldn’t know,” Eret says out loud, one hand on the handle of the door leading into the cat café. It almost feels nostalgic, feels like coming home. “I wouldn’t know at all.”

The voice chuckles at that. _“That makes two of us, Eret-san. Don’t try and screw it up this time round, okay?”_

\---

Quackity is sitting by the furnaces in Pogtopia, listening to the fire crackle and pop as it slowly cooks the chicken he’s tucked away into there. He’s almost leaning against it, and you can’t blame him – the ravine is cold, with a constant draft blowing through it, so Quackity leans against the stone walls of the furnaces, trying to soak in the warmth.

 _“We were never used to the cold,”_ a voice says, and Quackity feels a shiver goes up his spine. _“The desert sands were always hot, and the sky was always cloudless.”_

Quackity curls up a bit more, trying to block the chill out. Has it somehow gotten colder in the ravine?

 _“They came with their alchemy and razed our country to the ground,”_ the voice whispers, thick with resentment and anger. _“Aren’t the two leaders of this war planning to do the same?”_

Quackity does not answer, does not speak. He simply curls up against the furnaces, and waits for his chicken to cook. No point in listening to the dead whisper, after all.

\---

Bad is sitting on the boardwalks leading up to the community house, waiting for Skeppy to meet up with him. He kicks his feet, toes skimming the surface of the water. It’s quiet, and Bad lets out an exhale as he watches his reflection in the water.

 _“We’ve never known a life without war,”_ a voice mumbles behind him, and Bad does not turn to look and instead continues to watch the water. _“There’s always some leader who thinks himself as all powerful.”_

Bad ignores the voice, but it’s hard to when he can feel the chills heading up his spine. He involuntarily shudders, hands curling into fists.

 _“We learned the blade before we learned to be kind,”_ The voice whispers, and Bad can feel a chill on his back, like a ghost is leaning against him. _“At least we worked with the right group, eh?”_

Bad kicks the water, his toes barely skimming the surface. He does not acknowledge the voice that speaks to him about a bygone age.

\---

(Sometimes advice comes from unwanted places.)

Would you listen to the advice of the dead, even when that advice comes from a version of you from a long forgotten story, one that’s only remembered in the ink-stained pages of history?

Would you listen to the advice of the dead, even if it came from a version of you that’s now long gone?

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://kayoi1234.tumblr.com/) and [here!](https://kayoiwritingarchivies.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Find me on Pillowfort [here!](https://www.pillowfort.social/Kayoi_1234)
> 
> Answers are as follows, in order:  
>  _Fire Emblem: Fates, SCP Foundation (The Wanderers Library, to be exact), Persona 4, Demon Slayer, Persona 5, Fullmetal Alchemist, Fire Emblem: Awakening_


End file.
